


Waiting Up

by ThoseFiveChicks



Series: Under The Bed [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Brownies, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Vampires, of multiple kinds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 17:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16645046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoseFiveChicks/pseuds/ThoseFiveChicks
Summary: “What happened?”“Downtown boys play rough!”Dick gets shot, and Jason does something nice. Alfred does some baking.





	Waiting Up

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this all in one go in a feverish rush last night, and as a result, I got no sleep. Was it worth it? Probably not. Do not expect updates this fast in the future because hoooboy do I Regret my choices!

Jason was nine chapters deep into _The Amazing Maurice And His Educated Rodents_ when he heard the _thud_. The sound made him jump, partly because it was loud, and partly because despite almost a year in Wayne Manor his _street smarts_ were still well and kicking. Loud noises never meant anything good when the most likely culprits were the corrupt pigs from GCPD or the very criminals they were so shit at catching.

(And no, he wasn’t changing his opinion about the cops around here, even if Commissioner Gordon had turned out to be pretty fucking nice)

(He still couldn’t believe he’d shook hands with Commissioner Gordon. That would’ve been incon-fucking-ceivable to Street Jason of a year ago)

Voices followed the thud, loud and agitated, and Jason sat up from where he’d been reclined in one of the library’s window seats. It sounded like Alfred and Bruce, though Jason couldn’t make out what they were saying from here. That meant Bruce was back from patrol, which meant the _thud_ had probably been the front door flying open. That in itself was unusual. Bruce usually came home via the Batcave, the entrance of which opened a couple bookcases to Jason’s right (and no, he had _not_ been waiting for the bloodsucker to return home, the library just happened to have very comfortable seating that he was taking full advantage of). He’d never really sounded this upset before, either.

Jason hesitated. Angry vampire. Losing out on possible gossip.

Pros and cons thus weighed, Jason set down his book and crept out of the library.

He didn’t have to go far, as it turned out– he was halfway to the grand entryway when Bruce rounded the corner, still in full Batman regalia, Alfred hot on his heels and– oh.

Oh, that was a lot of blood.

Dick– Nightwing– was slumped against Bruce’s side. He had an arm around Batman’s shoulders, but it clearly wasn’t doing much of anything to keep him upright, Bruce picking up the slack and supporting his former sidekick with an arm around his waist. Batman’s strides were strong; Nightwing’s were barely strides at all, feet dragging between steps more often than not. There were holes in his suit, big ones. Bloody ones. God, there was _so much blood_.

Jason had seen some pretty awful things on the streets. He’d gotten acquainted with death in ways he wished he hadn’t. And the last time he’d seen someone lose that much blood, they didn’t get back up again.

He stood stock-still in the hallway, barely breathing as Bruce half-carried, half-dragged Dick forwards.

“–suitable quantity?” Alfred was saying. His eyebrows were caught close together, shoulders rigid under his suit jacket. There was a tension around the corners of his mouth and a briskness to his step.

“No time,” Bruce growled– not the Batman’s growl, but his own. “We’ll have to make do.”

It was Dick who noticed him first.

“Heeey Jaybird!” he slurred cheerfully, waving his hand without lifting it from Bruce’s shoulders first. That got Bruce and Alfred’s attention, though the former spared him barely a glance before returning to the task of maneuvering a barely conscious Nightwing. Alfred, on the other hand, took the time to place a hand on Jason’s shoulder as the bizarre procession passed him.

“Perhaps you should wait in your room for a while, master Jason,” he said gently. Jason shook off his hand. He wasn’t a _baby_ , he didn’t need to be treated like one.

“What happened?” he asked, following Bruce down the hallway. He heard a sigh from behind him, then Alfred was at his back, taking up the rear.

“Downtown boys play rough!” Dick replied, which, okay, didn’t answer his question.

Luckily, Bruce had him covered. “He was shot. Multiple times. Point blank. Nothing fatal, but still something he should have _known better_ than to allow to happen.”

 _Known better than to get shot_ , Jason thought. _Fantastic bedside manner there, Bruce_.

Dick laughed, then the laughter caught in his throat with a gargle, and Jason watched him spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor. His stomach lurched. _So much blood_.

“S’ry Alfred,” Dick mumbled, sounding sheepish.

“That’s quite alright, master Dick, these floors were due for a good scrubbing anyway.”

Bruce stopped in front of Dick’s room, shoving the door open and wrangling Dick inside. The half-drag had become a full-drag now, Dick having lost what ability he’d had left to keep himself upright. Jason hesitated at the threshold, then stepped into the dark room, watching Bruce lay Dick out on the bed. Another _sorry Alfred_ came from Dick’s general direction.

“Linens can be washed,” Alfred said. “I suppose I’ll go see about heating something up for master Dick, shall I?”

Bruce grunted a vague affirmation, straightening up and heading back in Jason’s direction. He stepped aside to let Bruce by, six foot two inches of a man on a mission. Alfred fell into step behind him, and then.

Then they were both gone.

Jason stared into the rectangle of light from the hallway. They’d left. They’d just. . . _left_ . Dick had been shot, point blank, _multiple times_ , and Bruce and Alfred had.

Left.

“D’n let th’m fool you,” came from behind him, and not for the first time that night, Jason jumped. He turned, and yep, there was Dick, still managing to talk despite the damage to his chest.

He gave Jason a weak smile. Blood bubbled between his lips as he spoke. “Bruce ‘s a man of. . . action. H’s getting things to help. He’ll be. . . back.”

Jason cautiously approached the bed. Dick looked. . . bad. In a way, he was easier on the eyes in here, since the low light left more to the imagination. On the other hand, Jason’s imagination didn’t need anything left to it. There was already a dark stain spreading beneath Dick’s torso, sheets soaking through with blood. Jason counted four bullet holes in the Nightwing suit, one just below Dick’s collarbone, one low over his ribs, and two clustered close around his heart. None of them looked good, but the one near his collarbone looked even worse, as if it had been clawed open by a wild animal.

He guessed Dick saw him looking, because he said, “Bruce had t’dig the bullet out. Check 'f it had. Garlic.”

Garlic. The blood purifier. Intended to _purge_ the _disease_ that was vampirism. Intended to kill those afflicted with it.

“Did– were they vampire hunters?” Jason asked.

Dick laughed again, and again, it dissolved into a rattling cough.

“Nah. Bruce s’just. . . paranoid.”

His fangs glinted around his words, and that gave Jason pause. Dick was usually pretty good about his fangs. He didn’t go out of his way to hide them around the house, which was nice. Sure, they’d made him a bit. . . _nervous_ at first, but he didn’t need to be _babied_ , despite what other members of the household might think (Jason had only seen Bruce’s fangs a handful of times). Dick had described controlling them as being like holding in a sneeze– somewhat uncomfortable and a little weird, but ultimately not harmful. Like a sneeze, they didn’t always come when you expected them to, and could seemingly occur at random. Hunger brought them out, but so did anger, or laughter, or excitement. Usually they’d linger for a bit, then retreat back into their hiding places as if they’d never been there at all.

They weren’t retreating this time.

“Are. . .” Jason began. Hesitated. Continued. “Are you really going to be okay?”

“Pff, like Nightwing’s going down over some amature mistake,” Dick scoffed, then he tilted a grin up at Jason. When Jason return the look, his smile faded.

“Look,” Dick said, “There’s not a lot that c’n kill a vampire. ‘F Bruce hadn’t gotten my call in time, _maybe_ , but he did. I’ll be fine. Jus’ gotta eat.”

Eat. Right.

“So that’s why Alfred’s _heating something up_ _for you_ ,” Jason said. Dick nodded, then seemed to regret the movement, wincing. “And Bruce is. . ?”

“Getting more, hopef’lly.”

“More?”

The corner of Dick’s mouth twitched. He hesitated for a moment before he spoke, like he was sorting out his words.

“Bags aren’t. . . great. F’r us. Got chemicals n’stuff in them. Plus, they’re old. Dead. So healing from– from this, it’s gonna take. A lot.”

Jason chewed his lower lip. He knew Bruce, and Dick when he was staying with them, tended to take their meals in steaming mugs. He also knew, because he’d _asked_ , that Bruce didn’t feed on anyone without explicit permission. Dick. . . didn’t kill people. He’d admitted to grabbing one or two snacks on patrol, though. Bruce wasn’t thrilled about it, but he wasn’t too upset about it, either. Probably because the vast majority of Dick’s live meals were, according to him, _provided by more than enthusiastic partners_.

And then he’d wiggled his eyebrows and Jason had punched him.

Staring down at the vampire sprawled out on the bed, Jason thought about how much it must hurt to get shot once, let alone four fucking times. Probably more than it would hurt to lose a couple pints of blood. Hypothetically speaking. He was just doing random comparisons in his head here.

(That was a lie)

(Fuck, Street Jason was screaming at him in the back of his mind, because not only was he _considering_ something he’d been categorically fucking terrified of for years, he had the goddamn _nerve_ to try to play it off as No Big Deal)

Jason sat down on the edge of the bed. He could feel cold dampness immediately start seeping through his pajama pants, and he tried not to think about that. Tried not to think of all that cold, cold blood.

“Hey, no,” Dick said weakly, “Y’r gonna get all messy.”

“Like I fucking care, Dick.” Jason rolled his eyes, and, before he lost the nerve, he rolled up his sleeve.

The reaction was significantly less dramatic than he’d been expecting. Rather than Dick lunging for his exposed skin like a lion falling upon a downed gazelle, the vampire’s gaze just flicked downward, lingered for a moment, then moved back up to Jason’s face. His eyebrows tilted in what better _not_ be fucking pity, and he made a weak sound in the back of his throat, managing to get one trembling hand a few inches off the mattress so he could pat Jason’s leg.

“Oh, hey, no, wasn’t trying t’pressure you, Jay. Bags’re fine, really. Tol’you that’s not why you’re here.”

For a second, all Jason could do was blink in the face of that anticlimax, pulling his arm back slightly. Then he rolled his eyes again and leaned forward. This time, he got right up in Dick’s space, pressing the soft underside of his wrist to the vampire’s mouth. Dick’s breathing hitched, then stopped altogether, eyes very nearly crossing to try to keep an eye on Jason’s arm.

Jason clenched his fingers. That helped blood flow, probably. And, hypothetically, if someone’s hand were shaking, it might disguise that fact.

“Goddamnit, Dick, I’m not doing this because I think you were fucking _hinting_ at it. I’ve _met_ you. And you’ve met me; I don’t do _shit_ because someone else wants me to. Now hurry up and bite me before I _change my fucking mind_.”

The ultimatum didn’t really have the desired effect either. Rather than the immediate pain of fangs sinking into his flesh, Jason got to watch Dick’s eyes snap shut, feel a tremble beneath his wrist. One of Dick’s hands, tacky-wet with blood, came up to close over Jason’s fist, the other cupped his elbow. He pulled Jason’s arm away– not much, just a couple of inches– and took a deep breath.

He opened his eyes. Looked up at Jason.

“Are you sure?”

Jason nodded.

“I need to hear you say it, Jason.”

“ _Jesus fucking Christ_.”

“Tha’s not a yes, Jaybird.”

“ _Yes_ , okay? Yes I’m fucking sure. Anything else you wanna ask? Maybe my favorite color bandaid?”

“Jus’ a couple ground rules.”

“ _Oh my God_.”

“If you start get’n dizzy, or y’wanna stop, _for any reason_ , any reason at all– seriously, any. . . _any_ reason–”

“Yeah, got it Dick, thanks.”

“–jus’ tap my shoulder. An’ if that doesn’t work, yell f’r Bruce.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“ _Jay_.”

Jason heaved a sigh. “ _Fine_. If my _delicate sensibilities_ are offended, I’ll cry for daddy like a little kid. Happy?”

For a moment, Dick didn’t say anything else, just gazed up at him with tired eyes.

“You’ve come a long way, you know that?”

Jason growled. He didn’t want to think about his first night at the manor, hiding under the bed in fear of exactly what he was volunteering for now. Oh, how the turntables.

“If you turn this into a sappy speech _I swear to God_ , Dick,” he snapped. “Would you just fucking _eat_ already?”

He honestly thought, when Dick’s eyes flicked from his face to his wrist and back again, that the vampire was actually going to drag this out some more. Then his expression settled, and his gaze returned to the veins that traced light and (presumably) tempting under Jason’s skin, and he pulled Jason’s arm to his mouth once more. He opted for a spot lower down than Jason had initially offered, about halfway between wrist and elbow. He mouthed over the chosen area, and Jason shivered at the feeling of cold lips brushing against his flesh.

Then those lips parted, and after a cursory swipe of Dick’s tongue, Jason felt the press of teeth. It was nothing at first, then pressure, then _painful_ pressure, and then Dick’s fangs _pop_ ped through his skin and Jason bit back a cry.

Dick’s grip tightened on his arm. Jason could tell the moment his blood hit his tongue, because Dick _moaned_ , the same way Jason did when biting into one of Alfred’s brownies. There was a soft _shlick_ as Dick pulled his fangs free of Jason’s skin and closed his mouth over the punctures he’d made. Jason couldn’t look away.

He felt it when Dick started to drink. It was the strangest sensation, like someone was tugging on the inside of his veins. A pull, then a messy swallow. Another pull, another swallow. He watched Dick drink his blood, watched him suck down the substance that kept Jason alive. It was surreal. Like an out-of-body experience.

Dick pulled his arm more firmly against his mouth, sending a fresh spike of pain shooting down towards his elbow, and Jason sucked a breath back between his teeth. _Ow_. Dick didn’t even seem to notice. He was drinking Jason down with a single-minded determination, like there wasn’t another thought in his head. How much had he had, anyway? It felt like it had been a while. Jason wasn’t sure if he was feeling lightheaded or if he was just disassociating.

And that was when he passed out.

When Jason came to, it was in stages. First, voices bubbled around his ears, butting against his consciousness. Next came touch– he was warm, wrapped in some kind of blanket, with his head resting against what felt like someone’s thigh. He tried to speak, but all he managed was a grunt. The voices around him cut off, all except for one.

“Hey, Jaybird. How you feeling?”

Jason cracked an eye open. Dick’s face was floating above him, a bit too close for comfort, with the vague forms of Bruce and Alfred a ways back. The ceiling beyond them all was a pleasant cream, and as he followed it down, he saw the fuzzy forms of bookshelves. He realized, belatedly, that there were fingers carding through his hair.

He was in the library, then.

Lying in Dick’s lap.

Lovely.

Rather than answer, Jason tried to sit up. A hand on his chest kept him from completing the attempt, and he was about to snap at Dick until he realized that the hand belonged to Bruce.

Bruce Wayne. The Batman. The man who, for some godforsaken reason, had taken in the kid who tried to jack the Batmobile’s tires.

Either there was a softness around Bruce’s eyes and the corners of his mouth, or Jason was hallucinating.

“You need to rest,” Bruce said quietly. Well, more like commanded. Commanded quietly. “What you did was incredibly reckless, and could have gone very badly for you, had the injured vampire you took pity on been anyone other than Dick.”

At that, Bruce shot Dick a look whose meaning Jason couldn’t even _begin_ to parse out the meaning of, then returned his attention back to Jason.

“It was also,” he said, “Incredibly kind of you.”

He smiled.

 _I would do literally fucking anything for you to keep smiling at me like that_ , Jason thought, and blamed the blood loss. He also tried to say it, but it came out a bit more like, “Dick’s th’ fuckin’ idiot who went an’ got  _shot_.”

Bruce laughed– fucking _laughed_ – and stood up again, nodding to Alfred as he started to walk away.

“I’ll give you some time to recuperate. You should come find me once you’re feeling a bit better, I have something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Alfred, for his part, leaned in and whispered, “Master Bruce said I wasn’t to give you solid foods just yet, but I went ahead and made a fresh batch of brownies for you anyway. There’s a couple here for you, and the rest are keeping warm in the oven.”

Jason imagined his grin was fucking deranged, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Thanks, Alfred.”

Distantly, he heard Bruce say, “I _heard_ that.”

Alfred scoffed and turned to follow him out. His voice dwindled, but not before Jason caught _you were supposed to_.

And then it was just him and Dick. Dick, smiling gently down at him, a flush to his cheeks and no wounds to be seen. He’d changed into a loose t-shirt while Jason had been out, and the soft fabric against Jason’s cheek was heavenly beyond words. The hands in his hair were, well. Jason would tolerate them for now. Grudgingly.

“Man of action,” Dick said. “He’s getting a surprise ready for you. Not gonna spoil it, but I think you’re gonna be thrilled.”

A surprise from the Batman. A surprise from Bruce Wayne. Jason couldn’t even imagine what it might be. A statue? A building named after him? Bruce was sure rich enough. It could be anything.

Right now, though, there was something more important he needed to know.

“How’s your chest?”

“All healed up, thanks to you.” Dick knocked his knuckles against his sternum a couple times, as if to indicate that it was good as new. “You scared the heck out of us passing out like that, you know.”

Jason huffed a laugh. “Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking glutton I wouldn’t have.”

“Hey, for your information, I’d barely taken a pint when you went down. _You’re_ just a lightweight.” Dick’s grin was warm, and so were the hands in Jason’s hair. His warmth. He’d given that to Dick.

“Really. Thanks. It would’ve been a bitch to heal on bagged blood, and. . . it means a lot to me,” Dick murmured.

Something in Jason’s chest twisted. He looked away, ignoring the prickles at the back of his eyelids.

(He hadn’t been homeless for almost a year. That didn’t mean he had a Home)

(Did he)

“Yeah, whatever. Anytime.” Jason paused. “Well, not anytime soon, but. Yeah. Alfred said something about brownies?”

“He also said you’re not supposed to have them yet.” Dick talked over Jason’s protests of _weak_. “He made you some hot coco to start, and once you get that down, you can have your brownies.”

He handed Jason a mug with the delicate touch of someone trying not to overbalance a pile of whipped cream and chocolate shavings. Jason wasted no time in starting in on it.

“So,” Dick said after a moment of determined slurping, “ _The Amazing Maurice_ , huh?”

 _That_ got a glower, though there was less bite behind it than Jason would’ve liked. It seemed like Dick’s had taken a lot of his own out of him.

“If you make fun of me I swear I’ll reach down your throat and take back every ounce of–”

Dick waved him off. “No, no, it’s a great book. Terry Pratchett’s a genius. I was just going to say– you’ve never heard my _Maurice_ voice, have you?”

Jason considered it. He had whipped cream to slurp, hot chocolate to drink, and brownies to eat. He had a lot to get done. And if Dick really wanted to show off his voiceacting, well. Jason could tolerate it.

“Fine,” Jason said.

Dick cleared his throat, and as Jason took his first sip of hot chocolate, he began to read.

“ _He drifted happily, in the warm silence. There were bad things happening, but they were a long way off and they didn’t matter anymore_. . .”


End file.
